The Persistence of Memory
by meeyoop
Summary: What was Ingrid's life like before she came to X Middle School?
1. Chapter 1: Detached

**The Persistence of Memory**

Before she came to X Middle School, Ingrid Third was kicked out of a long list of prestigious academic institutions. Why did she have so much trouble fitting in and staying out of trouble?

Author's Note: This isn't the first fanfic that I've tried to write, but it is the first one I've posted (because I'm a raving mad perfectionist and I won't usually allow myself to post a story until I'm completely done with it…which so far has not happened until now, but I digress). I'd really appreciate some constructive criticism, suggestions, corrections, or whatever…Okay, here's the story.

**Chapter 1: Detached**

_12 January 2001_

_It's all over. This has been a difficult week for all of us, and now it's finally ended. The worry, the aching, the disbelief has culminated in this one event. Today we laid Mom to rest._

Ingrid stood between her father and her older sister, holding a single white lily in her hand. She stepped towards the casket and placed the flower on the polished black surface among the others. One by one, family members and friends came to pay their last respects. Ingrid watched them with unfeeling eyes. Her only thoughts were of her mother, who had been alive and breathing only a few days ago, but was now lying cold and dead within the casket.

_I still can't believe she's really gone. I mean, she's always been there, she was just so much a part of us. And yet, strangely enough, I haven't cried once through this whole thing. I know I should feel sad. But I just don't feel anything right now._

Ingrid looked up at her father. He was staring at the casket, then the headstone, then back, with tears threatening to fall from his eyes. She glanced at her sister. Ariella had been weeping silently and steadily ever since she had given the eulogy, but now as the casket was being lowered into the ground, a stifled cry escaped from her throat and she began to sob. Ingrid put an arm around her sister's shoulders as their father held both of them close. He was crying too. Ingrid could barely hear the minister's prayer anymore. All she heard was the sobbing of her father and sister, which seemed all the louder next to her numb silence.

_Why couldn't I cry like Dad and Ariella did? I miss Mom just as much as they do. I don't understand. She always cared about me, and I can't even show my grief for her passing. All the people who were there think that I don't care that she's gone. I know. I saw them staring at me. It was like they were waiting for me to break down and cry. Well, they can give up right now. I don't think it's going to happen anytime soon._

After all the guests had gone, Ingrid shut herself in her room and curled up in her bed. She needed to get some rest. Shutting her eyes, she thought of what would face her at school tomorrow. There would be sympathetic looks from her fellow classmates. The teachers would certainly make the customary inquiries. And then there was the school counselor. Ingrid groaned inwardly. She did not look forward to meeting with him.

_I really don't want to meet with the counselor tomorrow. He's probably just going to ask me a load of personal questions in an attempt to figure me out. Then he'll try to comfort me with overly optimistic, meaningless words. As if stuff like that is going to make everything better again. Well, there's no use fighting it. I guess all I have to do is give it a chance and see what happens._

There was a soft knock at her door. "Come in," Ingrid said. It was Ariella.

"Hey, sis," she greeted her with a weak smile, but it was obvious that she had just gotten done crying. "Are you sure you're up for going to school tomorrow?"

"I guess. I have midterms next week and I don't want to miss anything."

Ariella nodded understandingly. "So…are you going to visit the counselor tomorrow?"

"Dad wants me to. _I_ don't really want to, but I guess I don't have much of a choice."

"It'll help you deal with it. It really will."

Ingrid shrugged. "I don't think I need to go. I mean, I miss Mom, a lot. But I don't feel sad. I haven't cried at all this week, have you noticed?"

Her sister thought for a second. "We all grieve differently, Ingrid. It might take longer for you to really feel it. But don't worry," she said, standing up, "when it happens, we'll make sure you get through it." She gave her younger sister a quick hug and headed for the door, but then stopped. "Oh, and if you're worried that everyone thinks you don't care about Mom being gone, well…I know it's not true. And Dad knows it's not true either. So let them think what they want." Ingrid looked up questioningly, but Ariella smiled at her. "Good night, sis."


	2. Chapter 2: Sympathy Unasked For

**Chapter 2: Sympathy Unasked For**

_13 January 2001___

_School was just as I expected it to be. By that I mean that everyone acted weird around me, just like I knew they would._

Ingrid said goodbye to her father, stepped out of the car, and walked up to the entrance of her school. She ignored the other students who were watching her curiously. "Look, it's her, she's the one who's mom died," remarked one girl in a hushed tone just after Ingrid had passed. Sighing, she made her way towards the library.

_The teachers acted especially strange. They immediately go into "concerned educator" mode when something happens to one of their students. What do I mean by that? Well, whenever they weren't teaching they were throwing concerned glances my way or trying to ask me if I needed to talk. For the record, I don't._

Ingrid had hoped that she could find some solitude there before class started. No such luck. She had barely gotten to the doorway when her science teacher, a tall, nervous-looking woman, spotted her.

"Ingrid! Ingrid, dear, how are you feeling?" she asked, watching the girl intently.

Ingrid sighed. "I'm fine, Mrs. Millard. Really. Now, if you'll excuse me, please, I need to do some reading." She motioned toward the direction of the library.

Mrs. Millard nodded quickly. "All right, dear, but if you need to talk just remember my door is always open," she said, before turning away down the hall. "Poor girl," she muttered to herself, a little too loudly. Ingrid rolled her eyes and continued on her way.

_I know they mean well, but sometimes you just get tired of it. In my case, I got tired of it before it even started. I know that sounds bad, but still…if there's anything I hate more, it's being pitied. I can't stand having people feel sorry for me._

She pushed her way into the library, colliding into a boy that she recognized from her English class as she went. Books and papers spilled everywhere. "Oh, crackers! Sorry, Michael!" Ingrid apologized, stooping to help the kid pick up his stuff. "Are you okay?" The boy blinked at her as if in awe. "I'm okay," he answered. "But...are _you_ going to be okay?" Ingrid tilted her head and gave him a look. "I'm fine."

Michael shifted uncomfortably. "I…I heard about what happened last week. I'm sorry."

She shrugged, slightly annoyed. "Don't be. Stuff happens."

"You mean, you're not all depressed and all that?" he asked incredulously, before promptly checking himself.

"No," she answered simply.

"Oh. Um…well, okay. I thought, because of, well…um…" He trailed off and looked at the floor. Ingrid handed him the rest of his books. "I'll see you in class," she said in a tone implying that the conversation was over. Michael avoided her eyes, embarrassed. "Yeah. See you then." She left him without another word and headed for the tables at the far end of the room.

_Since when did I tell the whole school about what happened last week? No one was supposed to know except for my teachers, and even then it was Dad who told them, not me. Yet in every class and even when I passed through the hallways, I could hear the other kids whispering to each other about me. I knew it was about me – I would turn around and catch people staring or pointing or something else stupid like that. Who cares if that's nothing new? I still wish they would stop treating me like some circus sideshow act just because something tragic happened to my family._

It was in the middle of science class that the note came from the school counselor, summoning Ingrid to her appointment. Mrs. Millard shot her a sympathetic glance as she handed her the note before going back to writing on the board. Ingrid gathered her belongings, surreptitiously sneaked out of the classroom, and trudged onward to the office of Mr. Perry, School Counselor. When she reached the door to the counseling office, she suddenly felt the urge to turn around, go back to class, and claim that the counselor never showed, but then she reasoned that no one would buy that story. Then she thought of her father and Ariella, who had really wanted her to go. They believed so fervently that it would help her. Ingrid sighed resignedly. _Just do it, for them,_ she told herself. _Who knows, it might help me after all_. She started to lift her hand to knock on the door, but it suddenly swung open. There before her stood Mr. Perry, the school's licensed therapist. He was a dumpy, middle-aged man who wore a sweatshirt that said, "Good Self-Esteem is Good for You!" Mr. Perry grinned perkily at her. "You must be Ingrid! It's wonderful to meet you. Come on in, we'll get started!" _Oh, crackers,_ Ingrid thought. _It's going to be a long hour_.


	3. Chapter 3: The Calm Before

Author's Note: Thank you to Bo Jang and StarStar16 for the kind reviews! You really know how to make an aspiring writer feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You guys are special…thank you. And sorry it took so long to update – this chapter was really hard for me to write because 1. I'm not sure that our dear Ingrid was in character and 2. I haven't actually been to grief counseling. These two elements combined to form a noxious solid known as writer's block. Most…frustrating…thing…ever. Anyway, the session I put in here is based on what I've read in books and seen on TV, so apologies if it's not accurate.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fillmore, never have, never will. I only wish I did…because if I did, then we'd still be getting new episodes of this awesome show. Darn those Disney executives who think the stupid shows they keep alive are entertaining! But I digress…

**Chapter 3: The Calm Before…**

_  
And then there was the long-dreaded counseling session with Perry. The first time I ever saw this guy was at a pep rally. He was probably the loudest, peppiest person there, even louder and peppier than the cheerleaders (if such a thing was possible). That was partly the reason why I was so reluctant to meet with him. As it turns out, he's a nice enough person, but it's his endless prying-thinly-disguised-as-counseling that gets on my nerves. And he wouldn't stop smiling. What's up with that? I know he's supposedly going to help me "feel better," but seriously…_

Ingrid followed Mr. Perry into his office and looked around. There was the obligatory overstuffed couch on one side of the room, with an armchair upholstered in fake green leather. The walls were covered in posters emblazoned with school spirit slogans and pictures of the school's mascot, Scotty the Scottish terrier. A bookshelf filled with volumes of psychology texts stood behind Mr. Perry's neatly organized desk. On the very top of the bookshelf was a row of cuddly teddy bears. Ingrid secretly hoped that they weren't part of the session.

Mr. Perry motioned for Ingrid to have a seat at the couch and picked up a clipboard from the top of his desk. "First of all, please know that I want to listen to what you have to say. If there's any problem that you have trouble addressing, I want you to tell me. I'm here to help you cross this difficult bridge in your life," he said, grinning widely. Ingrid blinked at him. "Uh…thanks," she answered uncertainly. There was a brief silence before Mr. Perry spoke up again.

"Ingrid, why don't you start by telling me about your relationship with your mother? What do you remember most about her? What was your favorite memory?"

_He practically interrogated me about Mom – how close we were, what we did together, my earliest memory about her – everything. It feels weird telling a complete stranger about your mother and even weirder telling this stranger how you feel about losing her. I really didn't want to tell him anything. I've said it before, I don't need to talk to a third party to make things better. I don't want his help, and I don't want his sympathy._

She sat back, closing her eyes for a moment. _How does he expect to understand what I'm going through? He doesn't even know who Mom was_, she thought to herself. "You can begin whenever you're ready," said Mr. Perry, still wearing that ridiculous smile. _I'll never be ready_, Ingrid wanted to say. But, remembering her father and sister, she said, "I guess I was close to my mom."

"How close were you?" pressed Mr. Perry. That smile was beginning to get on Ingrid's nerves.

"Pretty close." She was about to leave it at that, but the look on his face told her that the answer she gave wasn't good enough. "She was my favorite person in the world, okay?" Ingrid snapped, half-sarcastically, but not really meaning for it to sound that way.

Mr. Perry nodded. "Good," he said. "I'm glad you told me that." _I didn't want to tell you that_, Ingrid thought bitterly. She didn't bother to ask herself why she was feeling so angry at him, or why she couldn't bring herself to talk about her mother.

_I answered most of his questions with sarcasm, but I don't think he caught my drift. He was smirking stupidly throughout the entire thing. It was probably the longest hour of my life._

When Ingrid got home late that afternoon, she found her father and Ariella in the kitchen, making dinner. After that day's tense counseling session, Ingrid had planned on going straight to her room without talking to anyone, but her family wasn't about to let that happen. "Hey, sis!" called Ariella from where she stood in front of the stove. "Come on and give us a hand." Ingrid didn't have the heart to refuse them, so she dropped her things in the hallway and joined her family in the kitchen.

"How was school today, dear?" Professor Third asked his daughter.

"Good. Great. Never better," answered Ingrid sulkily as she washed her hands at the sink.

Ariella exchanged glances with her father. "So…how was your meeting with the counselor?" she asked cautiously.

"It stunk." She moved to the refrigerator and picked up a few containers filled with leftovers. Professor Third spoke up. "You know, Ingrid, Mr. Perry is there to help you. You have to give it a chance," he said.

"I _did_ give it a chance. It didn't help me at all. I don't want to go back." Suddenly feeling tired, Ingrid left the containers on the counter, went upstairs, and slammed her bedroom door behind her. Professor Third made to follow her, but Ariella told her father that she would handle it and followed her sister.

"Okay, what happened?" she asked through the door. No answer. "You know I'm not going to leave until you talk," she persisted.

"He kept asking me about Mom," Ingrid finally responded. "I didn't think it was any of his business-"

"So you answered all his questions mockingly in hopes that he'd take the hint and back off," Ariella finished her sentence. The door opened. Ingrid faced her sister with eyes lowered. "It's not like he could have understood anyway," she said quietly. "I mean, _really_ understood."

"I don't blame you for not wanting to answer all his questions. But you have to realize, it's part of his job to ask you these things. That's how he's going to figure out how to help you."

"I don't need help, Ariella."

"No. You don't want to talk to a counselor. Listen, sis, sometimes it's better to talk these things over with an objective listener." She paused. "Do you even know why you're in counseling? It's because Dad's really worried about you – you wouldn't talk to us about anything after…it happened."

"Stop worrying about me! I'm fine! Besides, there's nothing to talk about," Ingrid shot back, wishing that her sister would leave her alone. "Perry wants to know what I'm feeling. I'm not feeling anything. So I don't need his help."

"Apparently, you do," Ariella answered. "You've been so distant, and when we try to talk to you, you get irritable. Like it or not, we're going to be worried about you. We're going to want to get you some help. But you're just making things harder than they need to be." She left the room, sighing sadly. Ingrid watched her go furiously. _What does she know?_ she fumed. _She wasn't forced to play twenty questions with the world's most annoying counselor ever._

_What stinks is that both Dad _and _Ariella__ think that I still need to go to counseling. They won't stop worrying about me. Why? It's not like I'm depressed or anything. So what if I've been distant or snappish? Ariella said it herself – we all react to tragedy differently. They need to lay off my back and let me breathe._

For the rest of that night, Ingrid locked herself in her room and refused to talk to anyone.


	4. Chapter 4: The Storm Breaks

**Author's Note:** Wow, this chapter is really long. Sorry for the lengthy period of non-updating. I probably deserve a slap on the wrist for being lazy…Oh, and you might notice that the dates in Ingrid's journal entries have jumped ahead two years…I had to fix them in all the chapters because I made a stupid time mistake, which then led to another...I'll fix it eventually.

**Thanks to the people who reviewed:**

GoGoGurl8769 – I hope this next chapter explains Ingrid's "non-grieving" a little better. Thanks for stopping by!

_Power2ThePeople ,__ snickers, SweetBean, shrimp, Un!corn, and StarStar16_ – Thanks for your reviews! Very encouraging you all were. (Where'd that Yoda voice come from!)

_Vicki and Teazer_ – Aw, fuzzies! How cute! Um, I guess this gives me some kind of standard to live up to now? –smiles nervously-

_Bo Jang_ – Hah, I'm glad that chapter seemed like it could sound like actual counseling…I was trying to go off by what I've been seeing on TV and stuff. But of course, that isn't always accurate… -sighs-

_You're all awesome! _I hope you're all still around to read this next chapter!

Oh, and I suppose I should thank Crescant Moon78 as well…for giving me my first "flame" and thereby officially making me a fanfiction writer.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, don't own it.

**Chapter 4: …The Storm Breaks**

_15 January 2001_

_Only two days with the shrink and already I feel like I've made myself the "hopeless case". This time when I went to see him, he wanted to know how I felt when I first heard about the bad news. Why would I want to relive that? It was weird, like I was numb to everything. I couldn't make myself believe that it was really happening to me. I kept thinking that it was all just a dream and that I would wake up and it would be over. As soon as I told that to Perry, I immediately wished that I hadn't._

"You weren't sad, even a little?"

"No…I mean, I miss my mom and everything but I don't feel sad," she said quickly.

Mr. Perry raised his eyebrows. "So you miss your mother, but you don't have any feelings associated with this loss?" Ingrid looked away, seething inwardly. _Good one, Third,_ she reprimanded herself. _You just gave the shrink another reason to keep you in therapy_. The counselor scratched his head and said, "Well, I must say…this is a rather unusual case."

_If there's something that counselors should be banned from saying, ever, it's that. Way to make me feel like even more of a freak._

Ingrid glared at him without reservation. Mr. Perry cleared his throat quickly. "What I mean is that it's highly unusual for a girl your age to not show any outward signs of grief after losing a loved one, especially since you had such a close relationship with the deceased."

"I'm a highly unusual girl."

"Yes, well…" Mr. Perry regarded her for a second before standing up and walking to his desk. "Ingrid, do you know why you're suppressing your grief?"

"I'm not suppressing anything!" she snapped.

_It gets worse. He blabbed on about something-or-other (I don't really know what, I wasn't paying much attention) but it was then he said something that struck me._

Mr. Perry sighed and tapped his pen on the edge of his clipboard. He was trying to choose his words carefully. "Ingrid, after reviewing your case I have come to the conclusion that you would benefit greatly from group therapy."

"What!" She jumped up from her place on the couch with fists clenched at her sides and an insulted look on her face, as if she had just been slapped.

_Group therapy!__ If talking to a complete stranger (a licensed therapist, no less) didn't help me, what makes everyone think that talking to a whole group of strangers will?_

"It's a good way for you to gain support from others who have gone through the same experience as you," the therapist explained, but Ingrid had heard enough.

"I don't need to go-" she interrupted, but he held up a hand for silence.

"I've already spoken to your father about it, and he agrees that it's a good idea for you to give it a try, especially since these last few days haven't brought much healing for you. I'll let you talk it over with him first."

_Well, of course he had to discuss it with Dad first. And of course Dad had to think it was a great idea. But did anyone think to ask me how I felt about it before signing me up for this? Of course not._

There was a brief silence, during which Ingrid sat back down and fumed, and Mr. Perry started writing more things on his clipboard. After a while Ingrid spoke up again. "Who else is going to be in the session?" she asked, feigning calmness.

Mr. Perry shook his head and smiled dismissively. "I can't tell you that, Ingrid," he said. "Confidentiality. The counselor's code. You'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out."

Ingrid narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

Mr. Perry opened his mouth to say something, but an abrupt ringing interrupted him. "Excuse me while I get that," Mr. Perry said as he rushed to the telephone on his desk, leaving his clipboard on the armchair.

Ingrid looked at the clipboard, then at Mr. Perry. His back was turned to her as he picked up the phone. _If I'm going to go to stupid group therapy, I have to find out who else is going to be in it so that I know what to expect,_ she thought. Stealthily, Ingrid snatched the clipboard from its place on the armchair seat and flipped through the papers. _Session notes…schedules…yes! The grief therapy group session roster._ Another quick glance at Mr. Perry told her he was still immersed in his phone conversation. She turned her attention back to the roster and scanned it, locking the student's names away in her photographic memory. A moment later the clipboard was back on the armchair, just where Mr. Perry had left it.

Mr. Perry set down the receiver and walked back to his armchair. "Now, where were we?" he asked, picking up his clipboard.

"Can I go now?" Ingrid asked.

Mr. Perry looked at the clock. "Your session doesn't end for another fifteen minutes," he said.

"I don't think I want to talk anymore today," she replied impatiently.

Mr. Perry observed her for a second before nodding. "Very well, then, you're dismissed. But please, consider the wonderful option of group therapy, Ingrid. It could really help you." _There he goes, with that "helping" junk again,_ she thought, frustrated. She sauntered out of the office without a backwards glance.

_I'm really tired of these people trying to get inside my head. Why does everyone think I need help? Just because I don't express my feelings like other people do…I miss Mom just like everyone else does. Isn't that all that matters?_

Ingrid went straight to her room when she got home that afternoon, intent on ignoring everyone and everything. This time, however, her father was ready for her. He was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for her, when she entered the house. "We need to talk," he said as soon as she stepped into the room.

She knew what he was going to say. Before he had a chance to go on, she blurted, "Dad, I'm sick of counseling. I want out."

He was not surprised. "That's what I was afraid of. Listen, dear, I need you to cooperate with me on this one. I've been really worried about you, and I feel like I can't help you myself."

Ingrid shook her head. "Dad, there's nothing-" she began, but he kept going.

"Don't think I haven't noticed that you're acting differently. And Mr. Perry has been telling me that you've been displaying unprovoked anger – I noticed that too. He tells me you're suppressing your grief."

"Mr. Perry doesn't know what he's talking about." Ingrid meant to sound angry, but instead it came out weak. She looked away from her father, slightly ashamed.

"No, I agree with him on this," Professor Third said softly. "He is a licensed counselor, Ingrid. He's been helping students cope for years."

"I don't care, Dad. I don't like this whole counseling thing. I hate having to go in and tell someone all about my personal life. And now I have to go to group therapy? I hate how they think that they're helping me when really they're just being invasive. They can't understand how I feel. And I hate that everyone thinks that I need help in the first place." She shook with frustration.

Her father looked stricken, but he shook himself out of it and gazed firmly at his daughter. "Ingrid. I know you. You're very independent. You think you can get through anything just by yourself. And a lot of times, I know you can. But this time…this time, you need someone else to help you." Ingrid didn't answer. She stared at the floor. "I'm not putting you through counseling to get inside your head or figure you out. I'm doing it so that you can come to terms with your grief."

Ingrid sat on the edge of her bed. She had calmed down a little. Professor Third looked hopefully at his daughter. "Please. Give it another chance."

She looked her father in the eyes and saw he was pleading with her. _Oh, no. Not that look._ "Ingrid? What do you say?"

_What surprises me though, is that as much as I hate this whole counseling deal, I'm going to give it one more shot. Just one more. I don't know how Dad convinced me – but he did and I'm going._

She sighed and nodded.

A slow smile spread across Professor Third's face as he hugged his daughter. "I knew you'd understand," he said as he stood up. "If there's anything you need – if you want to talk or something – I'm always here." Ingrid barely heard him. She was thinking about how it _was_ a good idea for her to have taken a look at the group therapy roster.

Later, when she was about to settle in for the night, Ingrid closed her eyes and went over the list of names in her mind: Taylor Bruce…she recognized his name as that of the school paper's editor-in-chief. Sara Mort was the star pitcher and captain of the softball team. Melanie Wilcox…Ingrid didn't know who she was, but she would find out soon enough. The other two were Adam Keefer, the jai alai team's captain, and Jimmy Williams, the leader of the Band Club.

_I was glad that I snuck a peek at that roster. At least now I know who I'm up against. I recognize all those other kids…they're leaders, popular people, the "haves." And then there's me: a girl with nothing to her name but a high grade point average and zero social status. A "have-not". I can just see how this will turn out. Should be interesting. Well, I'm still not excited about going, but if it'll make Dad happy…_

_16 January 2001_

_Today's group therapy session confirmed the theory that my "research" brought up. It was interesting, if by interesting you mean that it was a disaster._

When Ingrid woke up the next morning, she made up her mind to go into the session willing to learn. She figured that perhaps her father would benefit from seeing her "come to terms with her grief," as he put it. She thought of this all day, up until the moment when she walked into the counseling office and noticed that everyone had fallen silent upon her arrival. Ingrid raised an eyebrow at this but said nothing. _They're just surprised to see me here, is all,_ she thought. _I'm not exactly the most social person in the school._

Mr. Perry, however, beamed widely at her. "Ingrid, I'm glad you could make it," he said, motioning for her to sit down among the others. Ingrid greeted him halfheartedly as she observed her group mates. They were trying their best not to stare at her. _What's their deal?_ she thought.

Mr. Perry stood up and addressed the group. "Now that we're all here, let's begin. First, let's welcome Ingrid Third to our session! This is her first time with a group, so let's be sure that it's a good experience for her. Everybody say 'Hello, Ingrid!'"

"Hello, Ingrid!" the group chimed in.

"Um, hello," answered Ingrid quietly.

_It started out well enough. Everyone had to share about how they felt about losing their family members. Fine, except the trouble is I didn't feel anything when I learned that Mom died. Somehow I didn't think anyone else would understand that._

"Now, at the last group session I asked each of you to prepare something, like a poem or a song...anything you wanted, that describes how you felt when you lost your loved one. I'm sorry I forgot to mention this to you, Ingrid, but if you'd like to do a little improvising that would be wonderful!"

Ingrid nodded at this. _Oh, what the heck. Why not._

"Who wants to go first?"

One of the girls stood up. From her research last night, Ingrid recognized her as Sara Mort, the captain of the softball team and an active member of the Fashion and Beauty Club. Sara fished a crumpled piece of notepaper from her backpack and smoothed it out. "I wrote this letter to my grandmother," she said, smiling weakly, then began to read:

"'Dear Grandma, I miss you so much. Whenever I pass by the park I think about the memorable times when we would walk there and feed the ducks. I cry whenever I pass by the park because whenever I know that I can't walk there with you anymore, then I wonder whether I can ever go there again and be happy. But I know that you're watching me from Heaven, and that makes me glad again. Thank you for being the best grandmother ever! Love, Sara.'"

When she was finished reading she looked up at the others with tear-filled eyes. Mr. Perry sniffled a little and nodded. "Thank you, Sara. That was…touching. Now, she brought up how she felt like she couldn't be happy again. Can anyone else relate to that?"

_When the others went up to share, I _knew_ that they wouldn't understand. They wrote melancholic poetry and heartfelt letters. Maybe I could have done the same thing. Maybe I could have made up something about how _I_ wept when I realized that she was never coming home again. Too bad I'm such a sucker for honesty._

It was Ingrid's turn. She sat up a little straighter, trying to choose her words. Then she began to speak. "When I heard that my mom died, I didn't really believe it." She ventured a quick glance around the circle. Some were nodding as if to say that they knew how she felt; Mr. Perry looked pleased that she was participating. _I guess this isn't so bad…_ "I kept expecting someone to tell me it was a joke, or a mistake, or a bad dream that I would wake up from. But when I saw my sister later that day – she's four years older than me – I knew it had to be true. She was a wreck, she cried herself sick. My dad was pretty bad too. But I...I didn't cry. I didn't even feel really sad." She hesitated. _Crackers.__ That sounded bad._ The others were watching her, some openly surprised. "I think I was just never a big crier," she continued quickly. "But anyway, I still miss my mom. Every day. We were kind of close. I'm going to miss that." _That was a little better,_ she told herself, although Sara and Melanie still looked shocked. "That's all."

Mr. Perry smiled, almost looking relieved. "Thank you, Ingrid. That was-" A sharp knock on the door interrupted him. The principal burst in, looking mildly frantic. His eyes were wide and his face was red.

"Sorry to barge in like this, Perry, but could I speak to you for a moment?" he spoke rapidly, his frayed nerves evident in his voice.

The school counselor was hesitant. "Can it wait, sir? We're in the middle of a session here."

The principal sighed. He looked like he was about to pull out his hair. In a low tone, he said, "It's about Tranquility Day. There's a problem with the- well, maybe it's better if I showed you…" Perry's eyes widened in surprise and he moved to the door quickly. "I'm sorry, kids. This won't take long. Uh, go ahead and take a break." The two adults broke into a near run, leaving the group by itself.

_It doesn't matter anyway. How would they know how I felt? Ariella said that we all grieve differently…how could I explain that to them? It's not like they would have really listened after what I said._

Almost immediately after the counselor left, Sara and Melanie started whispering to each other. Every now and then they would glance over in Ingrid's direction. _Oh yeah, that's not obvious_, Ingrid thought, annoyed. _Was my story that weird?_

Sara waved at Ingrid to get her attention. "Excuse me, Ingrid, is it?"

Ingrid turned to face her. "Yeah, what is it?" she asked warily.

"Is it really true that you haven't cried at all since your mom died?" Sara asked curiously.

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "I've never been one to cry. What difference does it make?"

"It's just so…strange, is all. I mean, it was your _mom_ that died…I'd think that you'd have cried at least once."

"Sara…" Taylor cut in warningly. "I don't think that's any of your business."

"Taylor…" Sara answered him in the same tone, "I'm only asking because I'm concerned! This is _group_ therapy, remember?"

Melanie ignored both of them. "Yeah, I cried like a river when my stepfather passed away. And we weren't even super-close."

"So what? That's how _you_ grieved. FYI, Melanie," Ingrid retorted, her voice rising slightly, "you don't have to cry to show that you miss someone, if that's what you're implying."

_This is exactly why I didn't want to come in the first place. I knew it wouldn't help. No one understands…_

Sara blinked at her, confused. "But isn't it better to just let it all out?"

Ingrid tensed up just a little. Jimmy saw where this was going and tried to intervene. "Sara…just…drop it, okay?" But she went on anyway.

"Don't be scared to cry, we won't think that it's weak or anything. We could all cry together."

"I'm not scared to cry! But do you really think that shedding a few tears will make things better? It won't do a stinking thing," Ingrid replied, raising her voice. "What good will it do except let the whole world know that you're depressed? I'd hate that." Then, without thinking, she added, "Besides, not all of us need to put on a show when we're sad."

Melanie gasped. "You think we're putting on a _show_! How could you be so…so…insensitive?"

Insensitive That last word hit Ingrid hard. _Insensitive.__ Am I really? No, that's not true, it can't be true, I'm not…_It echoed in her ears, over and over. _Insensitive_. In that instant, something inside her hardened as though to shield herself from that cold word. There was a moment of tense silence, when everyone in the room turned to look at her, as if trying to figure out what she would do next.

Suddenly Ingrid felt that she couldn't stand being there any longer. She stood up wordlessly and made her way to the door. Sara spoke up, her voice filled with remorse. "Wait, Ingrid, we're sorry. We didn't mean-" But she was cut off by a slammed door.


End file.
